The Cherished and the Chosen
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story # 32 Spock's daughter has crashed on Donari, and there is every reason to presume she is dead. See what happens as the saga continues...
1. Chapter 1

"Mosha, Mosha!"

The childish voice of his son registered in Spock's mind, and alerted to his supervisory role, he glanced up from his datapadd. Across the fenced yard, two-year-old Simon stood firmly on his plump legs and beckoned the cat toward him.

"Come, Mosha. Good kitty. Come take your bath."

Mosha ran to the boy. Humming softly to himself, Simon squatted with his back to Spock and worked his arms busily. He remained occupied with the cat for so long that Spock finally became suspicious. _A bath?_ It had rained overnight, but the few puddles left behind had quickly dissipated in the warm October sun. Rising from his chair on the porch, Spock went over to investigate.

Their calico cat had turned a dirty shade of brown. Simon was bathing the unhappy-looking animal in mud.

"See, Daddy?" Simon's blue eyes shone up at Spock proudly. Pushing at his dark curls, he created an unsightly smudge all the way across his forehead.

Spock sighed. "Yes, Simon, I see what you have done. Now you and Mosha will both need baths."

Lauren appeared on the porch, hands on her hips. "Spock, I thought you were watching him."

"I _was,"_ Spock said in defense, "but as it turned out, I was watching the wrong side of him." As Simon giggled and tossed a handful of mud at the retreating cat, Spock added, "You have told me it is enriching for him to play in the dirt."

The smile in Lauren's eyes spread over her face. Spock heard a car coming up the driveway, and turned. He did not recognize the groundcar gliding toward the house. Lauren came out into the yard, and frowning in the direction of the visitor, quickly took Simon by one dirty hand. _Was she having one of her mysterious premonitions?_

The car settled to the ground and a dark man in Starfleet uniform emerged from the driver's seat.

"Admiral Morrow," Spock said under his breath. The Saturday afternoon seemed to dim as he walked down to his superior.

They met on the pavement.

"Captain," Morrow said with a serious expression.

"Admiral," Spock returned.

Morrow's eyes traveled to Spock's wife and son, and he nodded a greeting. "Doctor Fielding." He had met Lauren on more than one social occasion over the past two years, but he had never before seen Simon. "Handsome boy," he said.

"Thank you," Lauren replied.

The admiral closed his eyes briefly, and then glanced out over the terraced gardens on the hillside. Spock had the distinct impression that he was struggling with his emotions. Several possible reasons came to mind, none of which were pleasant to consider.

"Admiral?" Spock questioned.

Morrow faced him once again. "Forgive me, Spock. Technically, this duty should be performed by officers of the Border Patrol, but I…I didn't want you to hear it from a stranger."

Spock experienced a stab of dread. Lauren came up close beside him. He felt her lay a hand on his arm, but his eyes did not leave the admiral.

In a formal tone Morrow said, "I regret to inform you that Lieutenant Cristabeth Lemoine has been reported missing in action…and is presumed dead." He cleared his throat. "The Donari attacked en mass. The Stinger your daughter piloted was struck early in the offensive, and was last seen falling out of control into the atmosphere of Donari." He paused to collect himself. "My condolences, Captain. My son Kevin…considered her a good friend."

Spock drew in a slow breath and nodded. Turning, he went into the house. He was glad that Lauren did not immediately follow him inside, for he needed to be alone. He needed, somehow, to rise above the chaos of his emotions. Standing at the foot of the stairs, he relived his final confrontation with T'Beth. Regret was illogical—but even so, he found himself wondering what he might have done differently that day to prevent the senseless waste of his daughter's life. He wondered why, in the years that followed, he had not tried even once to restore some measure of communication between them. He had secretly followed her progress. He had always made it a point to know exactly where she was posted and what her duties were…

Lauren entered the house and tended to Simon at the kitchen sink before taking him upstairs. After putting the boy in his room, she came down and stood beside Spock, but his gaze remained locked on the wall where he had pinned T'Beth and told her, _"I have had my fill of you!"_

Sorrow constricted his throat. "She said…I had become as overbearing and inflexible as Sarek." Tears clouded his vision. Biting his lip, he remembered how it had been between him and his own father—the conspicuous absence when Spock graduated from Starfleet Academy and the cold, continuing years of rejection that followed. It was in just such a silence that T'Beth had died—alone, unreconciled, unaware of the true depth of love he had borne for her.

He said, "I should have set aside my principles and gone to her commencement ceremony. I should have spoken to her then."

Wordlessly Lauren put her arms around him, and they grieved together.

oooo

The Enterprise approached the Sy-Don Corridor at full red alert. On the bridge, Captain Kirk sat at the edge of the command chair, his eyes riveted to the distant flash of weapons just visible on the forward view screen.

"Battle in progress," reported the first officer in a feminine, unVulcan voice to which Kirk had never quite grown accustomed. Suba Vladis came up behind his chair. "Looks like the treaty has split wide open."

"What treaty?" Kirk said with sarcasm. "There's hardly been a moment's peace here for the past 200 years."

Vladis moved around to Kirk's side and leaning in, spoke quietly. "I hear that Captain Spock's daughter is somewhere out in that mess."

Kirk's fingers tightened on the arms of the chair. _What did Vladis know of Spock—_ _or_ _his daughter?_ "Yes. So I've heard." He tore his eyes away from the screen long enough to address Commander Uhura at Communications. "Open hailing frequencies. Let them know they're about to be outgunned by a starship."

Vladis flashed him a surprised, slightly disapproving look, as if she would rather go in, phasers blasting, and take the enemy by surprise. Ignoring her, Kirk studied the action and was gratified to see the Donari Raiders break away and streak off for the safety of their home planet. It was crowded enough out there without creating more confusion and potential for Patrol casualties.

"We're here to keep the peace," he said for his first officer's benefit, "not to see how many flies we can swat. Helm, bring us to corridor's midpoint. Step down to yellow alert."

Rising, he gave Vladis the com and retired to his office where he could address the commander of Starfleet's Border Patrol in private. Over the years he had run into Bob Hostetler a few times, but had never seen him looking as weary as he appeared on the desktop screen.

"Jim," Hostetler said from the Starfleet support base on Sydok, "thank God you're here. The Donaris have been hitting us non-stop. We've taken some pretty heavy losses."

Kirk felt his stomach cinch tighter. "You have a new pilot. Lieutenant Lemoine. What about her?"

Hostetler frowned and consulted some data off-screen. When he turned back, his eyes held a look of apology that chilled Kirk to the bone. "Lost in action…two days ago."

Kirk stared at the screen, his mind reeling with grief and anger. Pressing a fist to his mouth, he swallowed hard. _First his son, David. Then Spock's brother, Sybok. And now T'Beth?_

"I'm sorry," said Hostetler.

Kirk forced down his hand and nodded. "She…she was…a friend." What had she been—twenty? So wild, so obstinate, so completely and wonderfully alive. Right or wrong, he longed to feel her in his arms again. No—he just wanted her _near_ him. And now, at most, he could only hope to take her home. "Her body—" Kirk's voice grated. "Bob, were you able to…?"

Hostetler shook his head sadly. "Her ship took a hit and went down on Donari. All hands presumed dead."

After the conversation Kirk sat alone, hoping to God that T'Beth had died quickly.

oooo

Before dawn Spock rose from meditation, his mind rested and sharpened by a night of introspection. The initial shock of Admiral Morrow's announcement had dissipated; his thoughts were starting to settle back into their familiar pattern of logic. Opening the outer door of his study, he went onto the balcony. Fog blanketed the dark hillside and obscured the stars. Its damp chill sliced through his meditation robe. From far out in San Francisco Bay came the plaintive sound of a foghorn.

He heard the French doors opening and was unsurprised when his wife appeared. "Lost in action," he said. "Presumed dead. I am not satisfied with that."

Lauren's eyes glimmered in the darkness. "What can you do?"

"I want answers," he replied. "I _must_ have answers. If there is even a slight chance that she has survived and been captured, I must find her. I must bring her out."

"But how?" she asked. "People don't exactly beam in and out of Donari."

Spock thought of the cruel reputation of the reptilian species that inhabited the planet. Though the politics of their land did not lend itself to negotiation, the existence of the much-abused Sy-Don Treaty proved that negotiation was at least a remote possibility.

"Last night," he revealed, "I spoke with Starfleet Command. The Enterprise has been called into the corridor. Perhaps together, Jim and I can devise a plan."

"And get yourselves killed?"

Spock faced her full on. "Lauren… _aisha_ …what would you have me do? I must try."

Sighing, she grasped his hand and he returned the fond, knowing pressure. "Do what you have to do," she said in resignation. "I've just been spoiled these past years having you here all the time."

"I _will_ be back," he promised.

Dawn was approaching when Spock completed the necessary arrangements for his journey. Going into Simon's room, he gently roused the boy and explained that he would be gone for a time.

"Don't go, Daddy," his sleepy-eyed son protested. But the child dropped back into slumber almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

oooo

All day Kirk had wondered how he was going to handle Spock's arrival. Waiting in the transporter room beside McCoy, he held his feelings carefully in check. Over the years he had grown sick and tired of McCoy's endless suspicion, tired of walking a narrow uncomfortable line between T'Beth and her father. Little by little he had backed himself into an emotional corner so tight that now he dared not show his true grief for T'Beth.

Spock materialized on the transporter locus, and their eyes met. Setting aside his guilt, Kirk left McCoy and embraced his Vulcan friend. When he drew back, his eyes were misty, but Spock's held only grim determination.

"Welcome aboard," Kirk said, although he had no idea what Spock hoped to accomplish here that had not already been tried. T'Beth was dead. The enemy strike had left her ship too disabled to return to base. The fighter had been out of control and most likely burned up in the atmosphere of Donari.

Walking out of the transporter room, Spock addressed Kirk, all business. "I will need to speak with Admiral Hostetler and any individual who may have seen T'Beth's fighter go down. I have already sent out feelers among our operatives on Donari."

Kirk broke step and stared. "Spock, you know I've done all that."

"Yes," Spock said, "and now I will also do it. In addition, I have contacted my father. Sarek has agreed to use every diplomatic channel to aid us."

"Oh well then," McCoy drawled, "it's a done deal. We all know how much the Donaris value diplomacy."

Spock turned on him. "Doctor, I can do without your sarcasm."

McCoy bristled. "Looks like running the academy has made you pretty damn bossy."

Spock's rapier glance took in both of his companions. "Gentlemen, I did not come here to reminisce."

Kirk sighed. "I know, Spock, I know. But I just wonder if…" _Should he say it?_ "If you aren't just setting yourself up for a big disappointment."

"Disappointment never killed anyone," Spock retorted. "However, the Donaris do. T'Beth may have bailed out. If she is still alive, we must waste no time locating her."

Kirk met McCoy's eyes. Never mind the odds against T'Beth's survival—for once they seemed to be in agreement. _Give the man what he wanted. Maybe, just maybe, there was something to it._ "Come on," he told Spock, "I'll put you in touch with Hostetler."

oooo

…For a long while there had been nothing but blackness. Then the voice came, distant but unmistakable, calling out her name. She struggled to answer, but the sound she made was that of a frightened animal.

 _"Father!"_ she screamed in her mind. _"Father, I'm over here!"_

Listening, she waited for him to come and take her home, but his voice grew distant and faded into complete silence. She was alone—abandoned by him in the dark. Terrified, she struggled to move. A sudden storm of pain tossed her higher and higher toward consciousness.

She cracked open her eyelids. Gasping with agony, Cristabeth stared at a stone ceiling. Her body tremored from shock and fever. Rivulets of sweat soaked her bedding. _Where was she? What was wrong with her? Oh God, she was so thirsty. Oh God, oh God, her legs…_

Something skittered in the dusky corner of the cave-room and approached her bed with reptilian stealth. Trembling, Cristabeth inched her head over and gazed in horror at the gray lizard face with its orange eyes blinking at her. Then her head lolled and the blackness claimed her again…

oooo

McCoy slapped the conference table, his face jubilant. "You did it!"

"Spock, I have to hand it to you," Kirk happily concurred, "I didn't think you had a chance of finding her alive, but you were right. She was down there all along."

Spock steepled his fingers in front of him and considered the content of the message they had just received. Somehow, it all seemed too easy. "Do not congratulate me yet. The fact that the Donari government has shown interest in exchanging prisoners is very promising, however—"

"Promising!" McCoy cut in. "Spock, they called her by name. We never gave them that information—so _she_ had to, and that means T'Beth is alive."

Spock found certain aspects of the negotiations too disturbing to let himself experience more than a wary hope. "Doctor, the Donaris have failed to produce so much as a single identity scan or picture of the missing Patrol members. And you will notice that they are offering only two prisoners. There were three crewmembers aboard T'Beth's Stinger."

Kirk sat back and sighed. "Then one of them didn't make it. But T'Beth did. Spock, it's only a matter of working out the details."

As it turned out, the details demanded more diplomacy and negotiation than even Spock had anticipated. The Donaris were not pleasant to with, and Starfleet also demanded its share of Spock's patience. Every offer and counter-offer had to be approved by Starfleet Command, but at last an agreement was worked out and the mechanics of the exchange finalized. The two Border Patrol prisoners would be traded for twenty handpicked Donaris aboard a neutral freighter at midpoint in the Sy-Don Corridor. Two armed representatives from each side would oversee the exchange.

There had never been any question about who would accompany Spock, but when Kirk informed his first officer that he was going, Vladis did not look pleased.

"Captain," she reminded, "regulations forbid the commander of a starship to unnecessarily place him or herself in harm's way. I hardly think it's safe for you to—"

"Your objection is duly noted," Kirk snapped, and walked from the scene.

Spock followed him into a lift and kept his eyes on the doors even after they had closed. "Jim," he said carefully, "it was the commander's duty as first officer to point out—"

"Shut up!" Kirk said.

Startled, Spock turned and met the anger in his friend's eyes.

"I could kick your Vulcan ass," Kirk declared, "for ever leaving the Enterprise."

Spock raised an eyebrow…then wisely moved his gaze back to the doors and kept silent.

oooo

Cristabeth did not understand why they had not killed her. After all, she was half dead already. She shuddered with pain and revulsion as the Donaris tended to her wounds. Lying helpless, she watched their long, bony fingers reach down and unbandage her legs. Their eyes blinked at one another as they consulted in the odd clicking language she found chilling.

Fear had always stopped her from peeking at her legs when the wrappings were off. This time she forced herself. Weak with fever, she inched her head up and took a long, horrifying look. Tears flooded her eyes and she fell back, sobbing. _No! No! No!_ Were those swollen, hideous things actually part of her? Burned, mangled, seething with infection. She was only hallucinating—wasn't she?

A despair as black as death overwhelmed her as she remembered the simple joy of hiking, of running. She remembered how it was to ride a galloping horse or entwine her legs around the body of a lover. Oh, why had she ever gone off and joined the Patrol? Her father had said she would get killed, and now look at her. He _always_ had to be so smart, so right _. Well Father,_ she thought bitterly, _I hope you're satisfied now. I hope wherever you are, you're feeling so damn self-satisfied that you choke on it!_

oooo

Spock worked to contain his emotions as he stood waiting beside Captain Kirk and the twenty Donari prisoners. His eyes searched the gloom at the far end of the freighter's hold. At last, movement. Two forms came toward them and emerged from the shadows. One, dark-haired but too short to be T'Beth, pushing a bandaged person in a wheelchair.

Kirk motioned the Donaris to begin the crossing. Silently they moved away, passing the Patrol crew at midpoint. Spock focused his attention on the creaking wheelchair. As it came nearer, his heart began to pound with fierce hope. Then the person's face came into view and the hope died. It was a man.

"What the hell?" Kirk muttered.

Holding in his disappointment, Spock watched the young man and woman travel the final meters to safety.

"Say nothing," advised the girl pushing the wheelchair.

Spock took stock of their bruised, pathetically childlike faces, waiting until he was certain the Donaris were out of earshot. Then quietly he asked, "Where is Lieutenant Lemoine?"

The girl studied him with dark, Asian eyes. "I'm Lelia Chan, T'Beth's gunner. You're her father—aren't you?"

"Yes."

Chan let out a shuddering sigh. "The ship was going down. T'Beth made sure we ejected, but neither of us saw her get out. She must have thought she could land." Drawing a deep breath, she continued. "We saw the Polecat crash. There was a big explosion. No one could have survived. I'm sorry."

Teary-eyed, Chan turned toward her injured companion. Spock stared at a point in midair somewhere above her right shoulder. He had not realized how much emotion he had invested in the prisoner exchange. He felt stricken, as if he had just lost his daughter all over again.

"Wait a minute," Kirk said. "If she's dead, how did her name come up in the negotiations?"

Chan wiped her eyes and faced them once again. "T'Beth was my friend. I knew that her family had powerful connections. I thought she wouldn't mind my using her name to try and get us out of there alive." She looked with deep apology at Spock. "It…it's not something I did lightly, sir."

Spock nodded and turned aside.

"Sir," Chan addressed him, "I want you to know that…that T'Beth spoke very highly of you."

Spock glanced at Kirk and arched an eyebrow. In all his life he had never heard a finer lie.


	2. Chapter 2

Controlling her revulsion, Cristabeth accepted the cup of water offered from her captor's spindly hand. The fever made her mouth feel parched. The fiery, unremitting pain in her ruined legs made her too nauseated to keep any food down. Sometimes she felt like screaming, but when the urge came on strong, she thought of her father living in self-satisfied comfort in San Francisco, and anger steadied her.

Why were the Donaris keeping her in these dirty caverns? She had heard horror stories of the experiments they sometimes conducted on the prisoners they enslaved. Obviously, she was unfit for work or for breeding. What were their plans for her? They certainly devoted a lot of time and attention to her care. Their hands could be surprisingly gentle, and sometimes she thought she saw a humanlike concern gleaming from the reptilian depths of their hideous orange eyes. Bandages were changed, medication applied, and sometimes even a bit of painkiller injected through her skin by needle. Primitive care for a race capable of Space travel. It made no sense—unless this was just some kind of cruel experiment to see how slowly and painfully she could die from her wounds.

 _That was it,_ she decided. Everyone knew they were sadistic animals.

oooo

In a temper, Kirk entered the guest cabin Spock was using during his stay aboard the Enterprise. He found his friend sitting at a darkened game table, alone with his thoughts.

"Spock," he said heatedly, "I just fielded a very unpleasant call from Starfleet Command. I can't believe you asked for a beam-down to T'Beth's crash site on Donari."

"You are right," Spock said in placid voice. "I should not have asked for permission. I should simply have done it."

"Over my dead body!" Stopping, Kirk worked to calm himself. "Spock, denial is a natural part of the grieving process. None of us want to believe T'Beth is gone, but you heard what her crew said. She never had a chance." His throat tightened on the words. "Dammit, Spock, you have to accept the fact that she's dead. You have to go home."

Spock's eyes had the stubborn gleam that Kirk knew all too well. Every time he looked at the Vulcan, he was reminded so sharply of T'Beth that his own grief threatened to spill out. Quietly he said, "Spock…the crisis here is over. The Enterprise has been ordered out of the area. I have some trainees due back at Earth, so you can just ride along. Besides," he added, hoping the mention of Spock's son would help snap the Vulcan out of it, "I haven't seen Simon since he was crawling around in diapers."

There was a long moment of silence. Then, to his relief, Spock relented and gave a nod.

oooo

Now, at regular intervals, the Donaris carried Cristabeth to a cavernous underground grotto and bathed her legs in the icy waters of a pool. Each submerging was torturous, yet her stretcher-bearers did not act rough or sadistic. They performed the cleansing ritual with a reverent attitude that puzzled her. As the Donaris lowered her useless legs into the water, others gathered around and clicked in unison, as if performing some sort of chant.

She did not see any improvement in her condition. Now, with horror, she stared down at her unbandaged legs and noticed a sliver of bone working its way out of the suppurating flesh. Lying back, she gave in to her despair and sobbed, "Why…why don't you just let me die?"

Out of nowhere a synthesized voice answered her. "Life is precious. We must do everything in our power to heal you."

Startled, Cristabeth dashed the tears from her eyes and found a Donari standing over her. _A new face!_ But didn't they all look the same with their bulbous lizard eyes and scaly gray skin? "You talked," she said, as stunned by the philosophy the creature had expressed, as by the fact that it had spoken at all.

Something in the orange eyes hinted of amusement as the Donari pointed at a universal translator dangling from its neck. "We all talk, but now you can understand."

Cristabeth nodded through her pain. With the possibility of communication, her mind flooded with questions that the Donari patiently answered.

"We are the People who live in the land of Beneath. Your spacecraft came down near one of our portals and we brought you here to safety. As you have seen, circumstances force us to live primitively, but what we lack in material goods, we make up for with spiritual richness." Its scrawny, elongated finger pointed toward the robed Donaris chanting around the grotto. "See how we commune." Its orange eyes beheld her with something very much like regret. "I am sorry that we do not have the proper medical supplies to treat your injuries. You must be suffering a great deal. But take heart, the People are praying for you recovery."

Cristabeth winced as her pallet was lifted for yet another journey out of the grotto. She knew it would take more than a bunch of praying lizards to save her life, but she did not say it aloud. The sight of the robed Donaris was strangely moving. _Were they really interceding with some deity? On behalf of their enemy? Why?_

oooo

Spock stood with Lauren beside a Japanese maple in the upper level of their yard. Leaves scattered with each chilling gust of wind, forming a crimson carpet beneath Simon's little shoes as he darted happily after the new ball Jim Kirk had brought for him upon their return from Space earlier today. As if Simon did not already have enough playthings. Spock feared that the boy was in imminent danger of being spoiled. Yet Simon seemed to thrive on the attention Jim and Doctor McCoy were showering on him. He was, as a rule, a sweet-natured and obedient child. He was bright. He was healthy. He was strong. But Spock could not look at his much-cherished son without experiencing a stab of uneasiness. Life was so very fragile.

Lauren moved closer. Reaching into the warmth of his coat pocket, she gripped his hand. Something of her feelings reached him through the contact—a curious mix of sadness and affection.

Softly she said, "There was nothing more you could do."

Spock nodded. She was right. Jim was right. There was no reasonable way he could have carried the search for T'Beth any further. He must accept the fact that she was dead. Gone. Forever.

Suddenly Simon broke away from his game and tackled Spock by the leg. "Daddy!" exclaimed the boy, peering up at him. "Daddy, Daddy, pick me up!"

Kirk and McCoy looked on as Spock lifted his son and perched him in the crook of his arm. Runny-nosed, Simon hugged him tightly around the neck and said, "Glad you're home. Don't go 'way anymore, okay?"

"I will try not to," Spock assured him.

Lauren reached for the boy. "Come here, let me take care of that nose, young man."

They all went inside, out of the cold of the approaching storm.

Kirk watched Lauren disappear down the hallway with Simon and quietly asked Spock, "Does she have a sister?"

Spock understood the colloquial meaning of his friend's remark and allowed a slight smile to stir his lips. "Jim, you know she does not."

Kirk sighed. "Spock, I take back what I said to you in the turbolift. I can put up with Vladis—but I just hope you realize how damn lucky you are."

Spock met his gaze, knowing that Kirk fully expected him to refute the concept of luck. But considering past events, he indeed felt fortunate to have regained the love and companionship of his wife and son. Quite seriously he said, "I am 'a damn sight luckier' than even you can imagine."

McCoy broke into a grin. "Remind me to tell Laurie that she's having a wonderful effect on you."

Spock raised an eyebrow, but did not deny the positive aspects of his wife's influence.

Kirk glanced at his wrist chronometer. "Almost time to go," he said with reluctance. "Spock, that boy of yours is something. You say he has telepathic ability?"

"That is correct."

"But he seems so—" Kirk broke off, at a rare loss for words.

"Normal?" Spock finished for him.

"Good going, Jim," muttered McCoy.

"You know what I mean!" Kirk came back at him.

McCoy folded his arms across his chest, as if enjoying Kirk's discomfort. "Spock knows _exactly_ what you mean. Don't you, Spock?"

Spock had no wish to be drawn into another argument between the two of them. He had witnessed his fill of bickering while aboard the Enterprise and wondered at their discord. He was glad when Simon came bounding back into the room, his smiling face freshly washed.

"Jim, pick him up," Spock said. "See how he responds to your touch."

Kirk took the child into his arms and searched Simon's face. Wide-eyed, Simon stared back at him and placed a pudgy hand on Kirk's cheek. Suddenly Simon laughed. Then squirming free, he spread his arms like wings and whirled around the living room to some dizzying inner music.

As Lauren looked on with displeasure, Spock explained, "He finds your mind very stimulating."

 _"Over_ stimulating," Lauren complained. "Mark my words, before the evening's out, he's going to throw a monumental tantrum."

"That little angel?" McCoy smiled at the cavorting child, and then gave Spock a frown. "Jim told me you're teaching Simon some kind of mental discipline. Isn't he a little young? You're not going to try and train his emotions out of him, are you?"

Lauren rose to Spock's defense. "No, it has nothing to do with emotional control."

"I am teaching him how to shield his mind," Spock explained. "For the sake of his well-being, the lessons must be initiated early. You see what simple human contact can do to him." Recalling how T'Beth's touch had disturbed her infant brother, he said, "Simon finds negative emotions particularly upsetting."

Kirk and McCoy left for the Enterprise before the rain began. The predicted tantrum occurred shortly afterward, when Simon objected to something on his dinner plate. Lifting the boy from his chair, Spock carried him, thrashing and screaming, into the privacy of Simon's room. There he deposited the overwrought child on his bed and used a mindtouch to relax him.

Calming the turbulent psyche of an angry two-year-old was a challenging exercise, but when Spock finished with his son, Simon curled up beside him, utterly peaceful and secure. Spock stroked Simon's baby-soft cheek and began thinking, once again, of T'Beth. There had been times during her childhood when such a calming technique might have been useful, but direct mental contact with a female child was forbidden to a Vulcan father. And if the truth be known, Spock had no wish to enter a mind that was even partly Sy.

Sensing Lauren's presence, he glanced up and found her watching from the doorway.

"You're so good with him," she said quietly.

Spock gave his placid son one last look, and stood. "He inherited his telepathic capacity from me. It is only proper that I help him live with it."

"Did your father help you?" she asked.

The question tugged at an old, painful wound, and it was a moment before Spock felt sure of his control. "I…was given a _savensu_ —a mind-tutor—at a very early age. Since I grew up among Vulcans with shielded minds, my father thought those lessons would be sufficient."

"But your mother is _human_. So when she touched you…"

"She had studied Vulcan discipline and was capable of muting her emotions. "

"Are you telling me," Lauren pressed, "that your father never once helped you through a meld?" When he failed to answer, she looked at Simon with tears in her eyes.

At last Spock divulged, "I…had the sense that Sarek found my humanness…distasteful. And my brother Sybok verified it through a visual memory aboard the Enterprise." It was something he had never before admitted to anyone. During melds he had kept that part of his mind closed, even to Lauren. Now he added, "I cannot help thinking that T'Beth died feeling a similar sense of rejection—from me."

oooo

T'Beth lay listlessly on her pallet in the grotto. Clustered near the water's edge, ten robed Donaris held torches and clicked their chant in a monotonous sound that made her head throb.

She was so tired of the pain. Since the crash she had eaten very little of their strange food. Day by day she could feel her life slipping away, and she almost welcomed the promise of oblivion that lay beyond.

"I sense in you a great darkness," her Donari companion said. "Open yourself, Cristabeth. Open yourself to the light…"

"What do you know about me?" she said bitterly. She was sick of hearing about how their "peaceable community" was the "hope for Donari's future". She was sick of hearing about the "sacred waters of the divine presence". These people were nothing but a bunch of religious fanatics. Their peace movement was useless without some kind of political thrust to bring it out of the shadows of their pathetic cave. Surak of Vulcan had known that. He had done more than just sit around and pray. These Donaris were living in a fantasy world, and the biggest fantasy of all was that she could actually be healed through dowsing and clicking.

"You are lonely here," the companion said. "Perhaps you would like to send a message to your family."

"I have no family," she said angrily, "and even if I did, there's no way in hell you can get a message to Earth."

The Donari's orange eyes gazed at her calmly. "It can sometimes be done. We have our contacts on the surface, and there are Federation sympathizers among them."

Cristabeth grit her teeth as her attendants began to unbandage her legs in preparation for yet another submerging. She dreaded the icy shock of the water and the fierce jolt of agony it always brought. Shaking with fever, she helplessly thrashed her arms about. "No, not again, leave me alone…"

"Here," the companion said gently, offering her a cup of cold water scooped from the spring-fed pool.

Teeth chattering against the cup's rim, she drank thirstily. Then slowly, and with much pain, she was lifted from the pallet and carried down to the grotto's edge. Agony ripped through her legs as the water engulfed them.

oooo

Spock awoke suddenly. Sitting up in bed, he stared into the shadows and attempted to recall the disturbing content of his dream. He could remember only that it had concerned T'Beth—and had been strange, indeed.

As Lauren slept on beside him, he quietly rose and went into his adjoining study. Unlocking a desk drawer, he slid it open and lifted out a jade-handled Golheni dagger. The weapon had been among T'Beth's personal effects, delivered to the house while he was away. It seemed remarkable that an item of such value had not been appropriated by one of her comrades. Everyone knew that the Border Patrol attracted a lower caliber of enlistee than Starfleet.

Right there, Spock brought his musings to a halt. _Prejudice?_ Had he, too, been infected by the longstanding rivalry between the two branches of the Space service? His thoughts turned to the fresh young face of T'Beth's gunner. Lelia Chan had seemed no different from many of the cadets Spock oversaw at Starfleet Academy. She had displayed great resourcefulness in assuming T'Beth's identity. Spock had been impressed by her poise during the prisoner exchange, and the way she had tried to comfort him with a well-intended "white lie".

He had no illusions about how his daughter had viewed him. Their last words to one another had been bitter and hurtful. He had failed her as a father. Perhaps if he had been less critical, she might not have rebelled. If he had shown her more understanding—and yes, _affection_ —perhaps she would still be alive. But warmth was not a Vulcan trait. During Spock's retraining, his mother had encouraged him to explore his emotions and even _enjoy_ them, but she had not told him how. Of one thing he was very certain. There was nothing in grief to enjoy.

oooo

At the agonizing touch of the spring water, Cristabeth arched her back and let out a scream.

Abruptly, the pain in her legs ceased. An energizing rush of warmth flooded upward, engulfing her entire body. Lifted out of herself, she sat up, pulled free of the Donaris, and stood. And moved her legs. And splashed about in the sparkling water. Then running up the bank, she laughed as the Donaris looked on.

 _What were they staring at, bug-eyed?_

"Praise be to the Sacred Waters!" intoned the companion. "Praise the Divine Presence that has seen fit to perform a healing on this day!"

 _Healing?_ Cristabeth stopped what she was doing. Eyes opened wide with shock, she gaped down at the slightly atrophied legs holding her weight. The once-pulverized bones looked solid and straight. The broken flesh had knit. The suppurating burns had vanished, leaving only a network of fine scarring on normal-looking skin.

Overcome with joy, she dropped to her knees and wept.

All that day Cristabeth filled herself with food and strode about on her new legs, marveling at the wonderful changes in her body and her heart. Before now, she had never given much thought to God, yet He had reached down and touched her with a powerful, loving hand. She had been physically crippled, but now she walked. She had been spiritually blind, but now she was beginning to see. The eyes of her soul had glimpsed a great purifying Light, and she felt cherished. She felt chosen. And most of all, she felt unworthy.

She no longer had any illusions as to her character. She could be self-centered, angry, and embittered. Why had someone like her been singled out for a miracle? Was she meant to do something special with her life?

"Teach me," she begged the companion. "I want to learn everything about your God, your ways, and your reform movement."

The companion's eyes shone with pleasure as it nodded. And so Cristabeth became a student of the very race that once murdered her human grandfather and used her grandmother in a cruel breeding experiment. So it was that she sat learning at the reptilian feet of the very People who were responsible for her Sy blood.

As the weeks passed, she found herself thinking more and more of Earth. Somehow she must find her way back home—to her father and all the other shattered relationships she had left in the turbulent wake of her departure. Once her past was set in order, perhaps the direction of her future would be revealed to her. Meanwhile, as the Donaris devised a plan to smuggle her off the planet, she would put the present to good use.

oooo

When Spock was not engaged in his academy duties, he sometimes assisted Lauren with her private research in the downstairs laboratory at their home. He was making some entries in her biocomp when his ears picked up the familiar, discordant twanging that could only mean one thing.

Lauren looked at him. "He's awake…and he's gotten it again."

Spock had not heard Simon get up from his nap, but going up to the boy's room, he found his tousle-haired son clutching the lyrette he had pilfered from Spock's study. Simon's face appeared completely innocent as his little fingers plucked at the new instrument, only recently sent all the way from Vulcan.

"Look Daddy," he said, banging away. "Sounds pwetty?"

"Simon," Spock began firmly, but a knock on the front door interrupted him.

Lauren called out, "Spock, can you get that?"

Taking Simon in one arm and carrying his lyrette in the other, he went back downstairs and set Simon on his own two feet. The instant Spock opened the door, Simon tugged the lyrette from Spock's hand and escaped out into the mist.

Spock glanced at the aged face of the gardener before shouting after his wayward son, "Simon, no! Not outside! Bring it back!"

Yoshi Sakata smiled. "That one has music in his heart."

Spock would never have expressed it in just that way, but now that he considered it—"Yes, he does seem to have an affinity for musical instruments. Lyrette. Flute. Pots and pans. And there is a piano at Lauren's beach house that he likes to pound."

"His hands are too small for piano," Sakata said. "You should get him into Suzuki. I have a little violin—just right."

"An interesting suggestion," Spock replied, and then spent a moment discussing the gardener's concerns regarding the yard.

Sakata went back to work. No sooner did Spock start across the lawn after his lyrette—and his son—than a certified mail carrier sped up the driveway in a groundcar and, having established Spock's identity and collected a signature, delivered an envelope into his hand. A rare method of communication these days, usually reserved for important legal documents.

Simon was as curious as his father. Dropping the lyrette into the wet grass, he bounded over. "What's dat, Daddy? What's dat?"

Spock opened the envelope and read the brief message on the single sheet of paper inside. _"Father, I'm alive and well. I'll be home soon. Can't say more."_ And it was signed, " _T'Beth."_

Stunned, Spock read the words again, and then swore softly under his breath.

Simon stared at him. Jumping up and down, the boy mimicked, "Damn, damn, damn," but Spock was too consumed by outrage to notice the unfortunate increase in his son's vocabulary. Someone was trying to make him think T'Beth was still alive. Someone was preying on his loss. Someone—but who? Who would perpetrate such an unconscionable hoax? One of his more challenging cadets?

Spock's lips pressed together in a thin, taut line. Crumpling the paper in his hand, he hurled it as far as his strength could send it. Then lifting Simon up, he carried him into the warmth and safety of the house.

Behind them, the lyrette lay forgotten in the mist.


End file.
